Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

  He definitely disliked Captain Prettyman. And no wonder, thought Julia, who hadn’t liked him herself.

  “Julia Gray!” shouted someone. “You’re wanted in the Prefects’ Room.”

  Julia crammed her letter into her pocket.

  “Oh, all right. Coming.”

  She raced to the Prefects’ Room.

  It wasn’t any use being miserable, when one couldn’t do anything.

  When the holidays came, she’d find some way of making Terry mind less. The only thing to do till then, was not to think about any of it.

  So Julia deliberately didn’t think about any of it, but, as usual, set her whole mind on doing better than other people at the term-end examinations. As usual, she succeeded, and came out head of her form in nearly everything. Even in history and Scripture — her weakest points — she came out third and sixth, out of twelve. Julia was pleased, but not surprised. She was accustomed to success. Although the average age of the form was twelve years and three months, she was at the head of it, and expected to be moved up next term.

  She hoped with all her heart that Terry would be moved up too, and decided that she must find out about him first, before saying anything about her own achievements. Julia knew from experience that this was a difficult resolution to keep — but so far she’d always managed it, though sometimes only just.

  Then she forgot all about examinations, and results, and places, in the tiresome and embarrassing uncertainty that appeared to surround the beginning of the holidays.

  Instead of taking it for granted that she was going to London, like anybody else, there to be met by daddy or mummie and taken home in the car, Julia found herself the unwilling subject of contradictory telegrams, and letters, and telephone calls, all about changes of plan, and convenient dates, and inconvenient trains.

  Actually she wasn’t even told, till almost the very last minute, whether she and Terry were going first to stay with mummie and the Captain at Wimbledon, or with daddy and Petah in London. What suited mummie, didn’t, apparently, suit daddy, and dates couldn’t be fitted in until at last the final telegram said that Julia was to be taken straight to mummie’s club in Victoria Street, where someone would call for her.

  Someone!

  It didn’t sound very impressive.

  An obviously unwilling games-mistress escorted Julia to this ambiguous encounter.

  “I’m sure I shan’t know who to ask for. It seems funny, I must say,” she kept on repeating.

  “They’ll probably be waiting in the hall,” coldly said Julia, not feeling at all sure of this.

  “Is it your mother’s club?”

  “Yes, and my grandmother’s too. And heaps of mummie’s friends belong to it, and I shall quite likely see someone I know in one of the rooms. I know the place well,” said Julia, trying to sound very grand and grown-up.

  Miss Crump looked at her sideways, and suddenly became nicer.

  “I’d wait with you, dear, if I hadn’t got to meet a friend. But she’s coming all the way up from Ealing to do a matinee with me, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  “Of course not,” said Julia kindly.

  They boarded an omnibus, Julia grasping her case and her copy of Little Men — her favourite book. Her trunk had been left in the cloakroom.

  She liked being in London again, and exchanged comments on the traffic with Miss Crump. The omnibus stopped, and they climbed down.

  “There’s the club,” Julia said.

  Directly they got inside it she remembered it, and the faint smell of scent, cigarette-smoke, coffee, and leather chairs, in the hall. She also recognized the hall porter — a tall large man with a bald patch and a very kind smile.

  “Is Mrs. Mark Gray in the club?” enquired Miss Crump — who now seemed a totally different person from the shouting and stamping Miss Crump of the playing-fields.

  Mullins shook his head very slowly from side to side.

  “Mrs. Prettyman, I should say,” Miss Crump corrected herself quickly — and she and Julia both blushed.

  “Not yet,” said Mullins.

  He smiled at Julia.

  “She’s expected, then?” said Miss Crump uncertainly.

  “Why, I don’t know that I’ve any particular reason for thinking so. But she may be. Was the young lady to meet her here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or someone,” muttered Julia. “Perhaps it’s grandmama.”

  Mullins shook his head once more.

  “Lady Palmer is in the country,” he said. “Has been, for weeks.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to wait, Julia. After all, your mother said you were to come here.”

  “I will look after the young lady,” said Mullins benevolently. “She won’t be the first young lady to spend an hour or two in my charge, by a very long chalk.”

  “Well, really, I don’t know what to say, quite.”

  “But you can’t keep your friend waiting,” Julia urged. I shall be quite all right, and mummie’s sure to come in a minute. She’s often late for things.”

  Miss Crump pushed her hat to the very back of her head and frowned. A terribly smart lady wearing a white fur that looked as though it might drop off her shoulders at any minute pushed past her very rudely, thought Julia — and leant against Mullins’ little desk, thrusting her brightly painted face almost into his.

  I’ve simply got to have some money. Otherwise I shan’t be able to have a shampoo-and-set, and it’s too important that I should. Be an angel, Mullins.”

  “How much, miss?”

  “You perfect lamb, Mullins! Make it a pound — no, thirty shillings. I’ll bring it in tomorrow, I swear I will.”

  Mullins unlocked his little drawer and handed her a one-pound note and some silver.

  She blew him a kiss and walked away, moving her hips from side to side.

  Mullins winked solemnly at Julia.

  Miss Crump, seeming more at a loss than Julia would ever have thought it possible for her to be, wavered between the desk and the door.

  A taxi drew up and the club page ran down the steps.

  Julia caught sight of a familiar yellow trunk and a wooden playbox.

  “My brother has come,” she said.

  “Oh!” said Miss Crump. “Oh, then you’ll be quite all right.”

  She and Julia and Mullins all moved towards the door.

  Terry, looking tall and thin, got very slowly and gravely out of the cab. He was intent on paying the driver.

  Julia felt certain that he was going to lose his head and make a muddle of it.

  She cast an appealing glance at Mullins.

  The miraculous Mullins, instantly understanding, went down the steps.

  “Allow me, sir—” Julia heard him say.

  “Then I really think—” Miss Crump said.

  She shook hands with Julia in a hearty, manly kind of way and tramped out of the club, taking a good look at Terry as she passed him.

  Julia remained in the hall.

  It was marvellous to see Terry again, but it would fuss him if she suddenly appeared before he’d quite finished with the taxi. So she waited until Mullins and the taxi-driver between them had placed the trunk and the playbox in the corner of the hall.

  Terry was watching them with his grave, pale face, and the look that meant he wasn’t sure what he ought to do next. So Julia ran forward.

  Terry’s face quite changed, then. He smiled, and his eyes lit up, and he looked pink again, instead of yellow.

  “Hullo!” he said.

  “Hullo!” responded Julia, beaming.

  They kissed rather shyly.

  “Nobody’s here to meet us yet. Miss Crump brought me, she’s gone now thank goodness, did you come all by yourself?”

  “Yes. In a taxi.”

  “Was it fun?” asked Julia, meaning had everything been all right.

  “Quite fairly,” said Terry with reserve.

  He looked round him.

  “
If you wish to wash your hands, sir, the Gentlemen’s Cloakroom is through there,” said Mullins. “Let me show you the way.”

  When Terry came back, his hands clean and his fair hair very smooth, he said to Julia:

  “What a nice man that is.”

  “Isn’t he. Let’s ask him if we can work the lift.”

  “You ask.”

  To Julia’s request, Mullins returned a qualified assent. They might work the lift when nobody else wanted it. No nonsense about showing them how to do it, or telling them to be very careful. As if anybody with common sense couldn’t work the lift, after reading the instructions! Even Terry, who always thought he couldn’t do anything, managed it perfectly after going up and down twice with Julia.

  Time passed agreeably.

  A dim awareness of grown-up figures, mostly ladies, moving about, and talking in exclamatory jerks, and slamming in and out of the telephone-booth, just faintly crossed Julia’s consciousness. She paid no attention to any of them until a masculine voice suddenly roused her to awareness.

  “Are there two children here, waiting for Mrs. Prettyman? Name of Gray.”

  “Over there, sir,” Mullins replied.

  Julia swung round from her station by the lift-gates.

  It was the Captain.

  His head — she suddenly remembered it again — looked too small for his height and his huge shoulders. He said “Hallo!” in a voice that made it sound as though he were surprised to see them, and Julia, from politeness merely, responded “Hallo.” Terry made a faint sound that wasn’t anything.

  “Come along,” said the Captain. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be turning up, so I thought I wouldn’t get here too early. Been waiting long?”

  He didn’t stop for an answer, but turned at once to the door. He walked briskly, Julia noticed, but took very small steps.

  “Goodbye,” said Julia to Mullins. “Thank you for letting us play with the lift.”

  “Thank you,” repeated Terry. He looked up at Mullins and his face now was very sad, as if he was sorry to be going away from the fun they’d had.

  “Goodbye, missie — goodbye, young gentleman,” said Mullins. “I wish you both very pleasant holidays.”

  “The same to you,” replied Julia, and was suddenly assailed by a recollection. “Oh — what about the luggage?”

  Mullins made a peculiar and fascinating sound with his tongue, expressing concern.

  “I don’t know whether the Captain’s car—”

  He went after the Captain.

  Julia, seeing that there was going to be some difficulty about this luggage question, tucked Little Men under her arm once more and said to Terry:

  “We’d better carry anything frightfully important. He won’t notice then.”

  “What?” said Terry blankly.

  “I think Mullins thinks he won’t want to put luggage in his car.”

  “Where do you suppose mummie is?”

  “Waiting for us at the house,” glibly replied Julia, trying at the same time to think if there was anything from which Terry would mind being parted, if the luggage had to be left behind.

  At this moment the Captain reappeared, looked with great disfavour at Terry’s trunk and playbox and Julia’s case, and said, “Oh my God, I can’t have all this junk in the car. We’ll send for it later.”

  “Have you got a book or something?” hissed Julia; but she saw that Terry hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was trying to convey. She was obliged to shake her head and mouth “It doesn’t matter” as they followed the Captain out of the club.

  The car was standing by the kerb. It was absolutely marvellous.

  “You’ve got a frightfully grand car,” said Julia. “Isn’t she a beauty!”

  “Pretty good, eh?” said the Captain. “Hop in.”

  Julia looked at Terry.

  Which of them was to sit in front?

  In daddy’s car, they’d always taken it in turn.

  Terry frowned at her so fiercely that she hurriedly scrambled into the back, hoping that this was what he meant.

  It was.

  He climbed in after her, and flung himself back into the corner.

  Julia, who was interested in cars, couldn’t stop looking at the lovely, shining, chromium-plated fittings, the long, curved lines of the bonnet, the array of gadgets on the dashboard.

  She leant forward.

  “What’s the utmost she can do?”

  “Seventy to eighty.”

  “Gosh!” said Julia.

  She meditated on this glorious fact as the car moved slowly into a traffic jam.

  Would she ever, ever be in the car when it was doing seventy to eighty miles an hour?

  Once daddy had made the old Austin do fifty. That had been exciting enough. Julia remembered how she’d sat in front, beside daddy, watching the speedometer, and screaming: “Forty — forty-two — forty again — forty-one — forty-four — go on, daddy! — forty-six — fifty!” Terry, in the back, had leaned right over, and whenever they screamed, Chang had barked.

  “Where’s Chang?” Julia suddenly asked in a loud voice.

  “Where’s what?” said the Captain without turning round. “Don’t shout in my ear when I’m driving, please. At home, I expect.”

  Julia giggled quietly.

  “What does he mean by ‘home’?” she thought. “This Wimbledon place isn’t any home to me, I haven’t even seen it yet.”

  She glanced at Terry.

  Evidently he didn’t want to talk.

  Julia, who almost always wanted to talk, gave a small sigh.

  Still, there was plenty to think about. The advertisements on the hoardings, the people in the buses, the shop-windows, the smallness of the Captain’s head compared with the width of his shoulders, the splendour of the car, and the kindness of Mullins.

  Underneath everything else was a faint, uncertain hope of seeing Chang again.

  It would be nice to see mummie again too, but Julia was conscious of a little anxiety in this connection, and would not dwell upon it.

  Mummie, un-married to daddy and married instead to somebody else, might, she was afraid, seem somehow like a different person.

  II

  THE house at Wimbledon was quite large — much larger than Julia had expected it to be, because she still couldn’t get it out of her head that home must be like their old house at Hampstead.

  It wasn’t, in the least.

  It had a white gate, with “Rosslyn” painted on it, and a drive with laurel bushes on either side, and it was built of grey stone and had a conservatory on one side of the front door.

  There were panes of coloured glass — red and blue — in the top half of the door. It might be rather fun, looking through them from inside.

  “Hop out,” said the Captain.

  Terry was nearest the door.

  He looked dreadfully green, thought Julia compassionately, and he was making most unsuccessful efforts to open the door of the car, fumbling at the wrong handle — the one that lowered and raised the window.

  Julia leant across him.

  “The other handle, boy!” said the Captain.

  Julia opened the door.

  “That’s right,” said the Captain. “But he’s got to learn how to do it. Let me see you open that door properly, Terry.”

  He really wasn’t saying it at all unkindly. But Julia knew that sort of voice only too well, and its effect upon Terry. Daddy used to speak like that, too, when Terry’s clumsiness made him impatient.

  She tried to direct him with her eyes to the right handle.

  Even then, Terry turned it the wrong way.

  “Not much good with your hands, are you?” said the Captain. “You won’t be able to drive a car or fly an aeroplane, when you’re older, if you can’t see which way a simple handle goes.”

  Terry looked utterly miserable and said nothing.

  “Out you get,” said the Captain, and he sounded the horn, making Terry start violently.


  The door with the coloured glass opened and mummie came out.

  Julia looked quickly to see if Chang was behind her, but he wasn’t.

  When mummie had kissed both of them she stood with her hand on Terry’s shoulder and looked at the Captain, who was still in the driving-seat.

  “Darling, what time?”

  “I suppose you want a couple of hours with them. I’ll come back at six. We’ll start at half-past, sharp.”

  “All right, darling. I’ll be ready.”

  “Cheerio, my sweet!”

  He drove off again, without taking any more notice of Julia and Terry.

  “Where’s Chang?” asked Julia.

  “Have you got to go out, mummie?” said Terry.

  Mummie, still with one hand on Terry’s shoulder and the other one gently propelling Julia towards an open doorway, did not answer at once.

  “Come into the drawing-room, infants. You must want your teas. I’ve got a lovely tea for you, and we’re going to have it together — just us.”

  “Oh, good!” said Julia.

  Mummie gave her a rather odd look — almost as if she were a little bit frightened.

  “How did you and uncle Tom get on?” she asked. “I think you’re going to like him very much, when you know him better.”

  “Must we call him uncle Tom?” asked Julia. “Why?”

  “Well, you’ve got to call him something, and that’s what we both thought you’d like best.”

  “Daddy—” began Julia, and then stopped.

  What she wanted to say, was that daddy, with a new wife, had made his children free of her Christian name — so why shouldn’t mummie, with a new husband, do the same?

  But it seemed a complicated argument, and Julia felt distinctly unwilling to mention either daddy or Petah to mummie.

  So she quickly said instead:

  “Oh, isn’t Chang here?” although by this time she was perfectly certain that he wasn’t.

  “I’m afraid not, Julia. You see, a big dog like a Chow is really happiest in the country, and grandpapa and grandmama are very fond of him, so he’s still with them. I expect you’ll go and stay with them later on, and find Chang there.”

  “Will you be going there too?” asked Terry.

  “Oh, darling, I can’t talk plans yet. I don’t know. Ring the bell, angel. It’s over there.”